The Persistance of Memory
by Lady.Bronte
Summary: Sequel to Starry, Starry Night. "I love you Nyota...and do not ever forget it."


Hey!! Thank you so much to those of you who answered back to me about the sequel! That would be you mykardia, QTFics, ChaoticWonderxx and siggyhahn! I decided to go with a storyline QTFics inspired me with so thanks a lot to you!

Enjoy people! I've incorporated more characters into this (stories with only Spock and Nyota seem kind of fake to me) so enjoy the banter and the inner thoughts of our two favourite human hotties Jim and Bones as well!

* * *

"Look, just take two pills and call me in the morning."

Lieutenant Nyota Uhura pursed her full, lacquered lips furiously and stomped out of sickbay with a small foil package crumpling in her hand. She wanted to throw it at the closest redshirt but refrained only marginally, painfully biting her tongue so as to keep her fraying composure intact. She continued to clomp down the corridor, almost barrelling over virtually everyone in her path until she reached the doors to her quarters. She stabbed the access code into her codex venomously and then surged into her room, slamming the offending foil package on her floor.

"Pregnant!?" She shrieked, stalking the length of her quarters like a caged beast, "How dare he assume such a thing!" She kicked a pair of her sneakers like a football towards the opposite wall and the xenolinguist didn't even pause to hear the satisfying thud they made against the carbon surface before stomping her foot with enough force to break the hull of the Enterprise. She threw her arms up into the air and barely suppressed a scream, giving the ceiling a look so wicked it had the potential to kill. Nyota then spun around and tromped into her bathroom, tugging her long onyx hair out of her ponytail roughly, "Pig! He's a stupid, impertinent pig!"

"I do not believe there are any Terran farm animals on board, Lieutenant."

His soft tenor voice startled her out of her livid stupor and she stumbled backwards, gracelessly falling into her shower stall with a muffled thump. Immediately, she could feel it; the buzz, the hum across her skin, the _connection_ between them. Realizing that she was in a rather compromising position, especially after hearing the doctor's ludicrous assumption not twenty minutes ago, the flustered xenolinguist clambered to her feet and straightened out her short skirted uniform, hoping Spock had had the decency not to look at what she may or may not have flashed him. Fruitlessly, she tried to hide the scarlet blush creeping onto her alluring face but she wasn't able to turn herself away fast enough; Spock had already seen the disquieting effect his presence had caused her and he quickly spun around, heading to the closed doors of her quarters. Embarrassment swelled deep in his stomach as he strode towards them and he uncharacteristically clasped his hands in front of him instead of behind. He paused as he reached the door and he peered over his shoulder towards the entrance of the bathroom but when he saw that the crimson clad xenoliguistic lieutenant wasn't gazing back at him, he pressed the exit button and the doors shwooshed open without further delay. He wandered down the passageways towards his own quarters, not enjoying the dull itchiness that had crawled all over him after he had left Nyota's room; it was like his body yearned for the pleasant buzz that ran across his fair skin in her intoxicating presence.

Heaving an inward sigh, he found his way to his lodgings without running into anyone of interest and sat down upon his narrow bed, resting his weary head in his hands. He closed his eyes and took a few slow breaths; though his mind told him differently, he knew that deep in his heart, no amount of meditation would save him from his ceaseless thoughts of the one woman he refused to _love_.

**ð**

Nyota found herself perched upon the ridge of her shower, staring blankly at her bare toes. Her glossy black boots had been tossed out of the bathroom and were now residing in a pile of unkempt clothes and uniforms near her bed. She wiggled her toes absently, watching blankly as her thoughts ran at warp speed through her mind, sending way too many scenarios into her conscious to think about. The one that kept coming back though was the one that had been plaguing her for days; the memory of his skin on hers, his thoughts to her thoughts, his emotions and hers locked together as _one_...it was killing her, tormenting her and she couldn't get the feeling out of her mind. It kept refracting in there like a fly stuck in her cranial cavity, like a bullet to her brain. She couldn't sleep without dreaming about it; she would end up waking suddenly, her heart pounding feverishly and her skin slick with sweat. She couldn't eat without thinking about it; she would end up chewing her tongue off from the anxiety her thoughts were plaguing her with if this continued. And she certainly couldn't shower without thinking about it for reasons she didn't want to admit. It was like an everlasting, never-ending slideshow of thoughts and feelings on permanent repeat, never ceasing even for a moment to give her shattered psyche a moment of peace.

_Spock...luminescence...beauty...the stars...Spock...his delicate mind...intermingled...gentle...consciousness...doubt...Spock...Vulcan...death...sadness...grief...Nyota...why us...why now...I cannot love her..._

_I cannot love her..._

_I cannot love her..._

Nyota couldn't get those four merciless words out of her head.

**ð**

Sickbay was unusually quiet for a Saturday evening; Dr. Leonard McCoy sat painfully idle in his sparsely decorated office sipping piping hot coffee with a sour look on his roughened features. He wanted to clear his head and blow off some steam with Jim but the remarkably young Captain was busy doing paperwork and McCoy knew better than anyone that it was best to stay away from Jim when he is doing paperwork; needless to say, flying objects and excruciating whining came harder and faster than a sixteen year old boy.

There was something bothering the middle aged, cantankerous doctor and it wouldn't leave him alone for a fleeting moment; it was only after reading the same line of a physical report fourteen times that he decided to give up all together and take a walk around the ship to clear his troubled mind. Grunting, he finished the last third of his coffee in one gulp and pulled himself up from his cushioned chair, immediately regretting his prior three hour sitting spree. Bending and straightening his stiff limbs, he lumbered out of sickbay and headed left towards the front of the ship without really thinking about it; his mind was on other things, like Nyota for example.

There's a point in every comedian's life where a simple, light hearted joke goes horribly wrong. Sometimes he says a racial gag in front of an ethnically inclined crowd or sometimes it's just because he made a joke out of such bad taste without realizing its fatal consequences. Either way, these lethal events end up throwing their careers into such a precarious tailspin that many never recover. Dr. McCoy had always been a fan of metaphors and other literary devices and despite his expertise in the fields of science, the descriptive and emotional nature of Terran languages had inspired him to incorporate such things into his everyday speech, heavy sarcasm included. But some things stuck in his head, like this metaphor for instance, and he would parallel it with his own life and find himself in that same precarious tailspin after a regrettable lapse in judgement. Today was another one of those miserable days.

Without truly assessing her ailment, Dr. McCoy had made an extremely disrespectful remark about Nyota's throbbing headache and sent her away with a packet of ibuprofens without a second thought. But slowly, the guilt and the realization grew until he couldn't quite take it anymore. He was too troubled to seek out the xenolinguist lieutenant so he kept ambling on until he found himself in the somewhat repaired observation deck.

He wasn't alone.

**ð**

"Are you sure Spock? I mean really, are you sure Bones would just say something like that?" Jim asked, looking up at the stoic Vulcan standing stiffly beside him. For the second time in his life, Jim witnessed a malicious darkness fall over the Vulcan's visage like a travelling cloak and it scared the hell out of him. Jim wasn't sure he would be able to stop the enraged alien from going after his belligerent friend even if he could help it.

"I am incapable of lying Captain-"

"Jim."

"Irrelevant."

"Whatever."

"I am requesting that you reprimand the doctor for his discourteous lapse of judgement as it is severely affecting the delicate frame of mind of the human female in question-"

"For God's sake Spock she's your girlfriend, not just a human female! Can't you-"

"Please stop interrupting my discourse Captain. It is disruptive-"

"It's Jim, Spock. For a being that's supposed to have a flawless memory, yours certainly sucks."

"Irrelevant."

"You're irrelevant."

"Your responses are illogical."

"Whatever."

There was an uncomfortable pause in their irritable banter and Jim continued to stare out into the stars, unwilling to bring himself to the conclusion he knew he'd have to take. He signed loudly and ran his hand through his honey blonde tresses, mussing them around with irritation.

"Fine. I'll go find Bones and tell him to apologize and whatever. But uhh..." Jim trailed off quietly, tugging at the collar of his mustard coloured uniform ineptly. He chanced a glance at the irate Vulcan and found that he was staring back at him impassively.

"Speak your enquiry." Spock replied, his eyebrow quirked in its old familiar way. Jim calmed down to some extent and took a deep breath, hoping he wouldn't get pawned by the irritable Vulcan in front of him.

"Nyota isn't really pregnant right? I mean that would be fine but-you-know-it's-kinda-my-job-to-know-these-types-of-things-"

"I assure you Captain that Lieutenant Uhura is not carrying a child."

Jim Kirk couldn't help but cringe uncomfortably, "Well, that was awkward."

"Indeed."

Another uncomfortable silence ensued but was thankfully cut short when they both heard the telltale shwoosh that told them they were no longer alone. Jim didn't even have to guess who it was; the way the Vulcan beside him stiffened like a metal rod told him exactly who had just traipsed into their awkward conversation. Spock turned his head robotically towards the young captain and peered down at him in a way that appeared to be very condescending. Biting back an urge to clout the patronizing look off the Vulcan's face, Jim chomped on his tongue and let Spock say whatever he was finding the words to say.

"I believe your opportunity is here Captain." Spock said simply before striding out of the premises. On his way out, he briefly brushed against the doctor in question, sending him the most violate sensation he could through their brief contact. Spock's lip twitched upwards into a cruel smile despite himself as he witnessed the doctor shudder from the corner of his eye and without another word, he strode out of the room and into the corridors. He turned to his right and started towards his quarters again, feeling a little unnerved. His exceedingly emotional state was highly compromising and a small pit of worry began to churn deeply inside his stomach. The tingle of fury was still coursing through his veins like a drug, and he found himself oddly perplexed; he was angry and he was worried...but what was he worried about? He was worried about many things, too many things to list or prioritize. He was worried about his emotions, he was worried about Nyota but he was especially worried about what may have transpired between the link that he and Nyota had developed. What was it? _Why us? Why now?_ What did he say to startle Nyota so that night? In reading poems written by great Terran bards like Eliot and Keats, he had learned all the intricacies of heartache and heart wrench and heartbreak but he had never expected to _feel_ it.

Clearly, he underestimated his humanity.

When Nyota ran out of the observation deck that fateful night, Spock had felt as if she had ripped out his heart and taken it along with her. And as barbarous and unpleasant as that sounds, he was all right with having the chocolate skinned woman taking the essence of his being for herself in a theoretical way; what he wasn't okay with was that after chasing her to her quarters he heard her crying through the thin walls of the Enterprise. The heart he thought had been ripped out wrenched like a throbbing wound deep inside his chest cavity, causing him to grasp his own torso and heave over. The logical side of his brain went through every ailment known to man that could cause this pain but the human in him knew that the pain in his chest was his heart breaking, breaking at the thought of his lover crying over what he had done to her. He would rather break every bone in his body then keep on feeling _this_.

But he did, and he still did as he walked into a turbolift and leant against the cool metal wall. He was alone and he allowed himself the luxury of slumping over and paying attention to the dull throb in his torso. It was so bothersome that he decided he would try and look up a cure for the human ailment in the Federation database in hopes of getting relief but all those plans were shot to hell when the turbolift opened and the cure to his disease stood wilting like a dying flower in front of him.

The pleasant hum immediately overtook him and the pain in his heart ceased as he gazed down at the slumped woman in front of him. Her eyes were red and puffy, presumably from crying, and Spock couldn't stop the instinct that coursed through his blood. He stooped down and grasped her in his arms, pulling her into the turbolift and burying his face into her neck, taking in the sensuous smell of her opulent skin. He buried his hands in her silky, coffee coloured hair and pressed her body to his, heightening the sensation that burned like wildfire across his body. Letting an almost silent cry escape his lips, his eyes widened and he said something he had never imagined he would ever say.

_I love you Nyota._

_And do not __**ever**__ forget it._

* * *

Review please! I'm dying to hear what you think!

Love and fluff, Brontë


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